


Through A Wall

by weepingwisteria



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingwisteria/pseuds/weepingwisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius and Cosette cross paths at three separate points in their lives. It isn't love at first sight, perhaps, but it's something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through A Wall

  
I

 

“I won’t go in there. It’s squalid.”

Mlle Gillenormand swallowed a sigh. She looked back and forth at the old man to her left and the little boy to her right. They couldn’t have been more alike, staring straight ahead with creased brows and protruding lips. She turned to the elder. “This may be our last chance to stop for some time. Come now, Papa, the boy’s exhausted.”

“How can he be exhausted? He hasn’t moved since noon!”

“He’s ten,” Mlle Gillenormand said pointedly.

“Nonsense.” Gillenormand peered at his grandson. “You’re not tired, are you, boy?” The boy started, but said nothing. Gillenormand raised his eyebrows smugly.

“If you think it best,” Mlle Gillenormand said wearily, “let’s go on.”

“Nevertheless,” said Gillenormand, straightening abruptly and stretching his legs, “It’s good to get a little fresh air every so often. We’ll stop here for a moment.”

As soon as the travelers stepped inside, a hush fell over the room. Curious eyes followed them from every blackened wall as the innkeeper’s wife ushered them to a table. Then, leaving her husband to look after the esteemed guests, she squatted before the little boy. He drew back. She was close enough that he could see the hairs on her face. “Hello, dear,” she cooed. He wondered what had happened to her teeth. “Aren’t you sweet, in your little black shoes! Aren’t you a handsome boy! What’s your name?”

“Marius. May I go outside and play?” he asked, turning promptly to his grandfather. Gillenormand waved his hand. It was not clear whether he was dismissing his grandson or the innkeeper, but Marius seized the opportunity to flee.

He circled the building. He kicked a pebble down the path, until it rolled off course and was buried in a pile of rotting leaves. These woods looked the same as any other woods he’d ever walked through. He might have found more to entertain himself there, but he had spent three weeks visiting relatives in the country and he was eager to return home. And anyway, it was getting dark. He couldn’t play in the woods in the dark. There might be owls, or bandits, or spiders.

He heard a noise, and froze, but a quick look around reassured him that it hadn’t been a bandit. A little girl was leaning against the outside wall of the inn. Marius approached cautiously. She acted as if she hadn’t noticed him, ducking her head and humming tunelessly. She was dragging a twig through the dirt. Marius crouched before her, careful not to let his coat trail on the ground. He studied her. She was half his size and she was as stained and grimy as the apron that hung from her body. She hunched over further. “Good evening,” said Marius. “What are you doing out here?”

The little girl trembled. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I finished my chores.”

“What are you doing with those sticks?”

“Oh. These.” The girl’s upper lip curled back. One tooth had begun to grow where another had fallen out. “I’m playing dolls.”

“Those aren’t dolls,” Marius said.

“I pretend they are. That’s how I play.” She was holding one of the sticks upright, twirling it like a little ballerina. A shallow hole spread beneath it.

“Girls play stupid games,” he said. “That’s not even a game.”

The girl looked surprised. “Why not?”

“It’s only a game if you can win it,” Marius explained.

The girl dropped her stick. She brushed it aside, patting the dirt in front of her until it was smooth. “Oh. What games do you play with other boys?”

Marius felt his heart skip. “I don’t play with other children much,” he said impassively. He hoped she wouldn’t laugh. Marius hated being laughed at more than anything. Being laughed at by a poor, filthy little girl would be doubly embarrassing.

To his relief, she only showed her front teeth again. The tension seemed to dissolve between them. “I don’t play with other children either,” she said. Then, in a grown-up sort of manner, she added, “We don’t get many of them around here.”

“Not at my grandfather’s house, either. I can show you how I play, though.” Marius reached into his pocket and pulled out a small lead soldier. “He’s a soldier. He fights in battles and wars and the like. In a battle, you either win or you lose. Pick up that stick again.” The girl did as she was told. “There. You’ll be the enemy.”

“What?”

“My soldier is going to fight against your stick.”

“My soldier?”

“Yes. Your stick is your soldier.” He pointed at the smooth patch of dirt between them. “This is the battlefield. Take your position.”

“What do I do?”

“Just hold your soldier there. I’m going to attack.” He made the little figure charge. The girl dropped the stick and pulled her hand away when she saw the needle-sized sword coming at her. Marius stopped. “Do you surrender?” he asked.

“Do I what?”

“Give up? You dropped your stick, so I think you do.”

“I guess so,” said the girl. “Is it all right?”

“Yes. It means I win. See, this isn’t boring, like playing dolls.”

“Oh,” said the girl. Marius glowed with pleasure. The girl hadn’t disagreed with him once. He rose, feeling satisfied with his work.

“I have to go back to my grandfather now,” he said. He knew that he would get in trouble for playing in the dirt, or playing with a dirty person, one or the other.

“All right,” said the girl, a little sadly. “Thank you for playing with me.”

Then, on some impulse he couldn’t understand, Marius slid the sword from his toy soldier’s grasp. He placed it in front of the girl. “You can keep that, so you don’t have to play with sticks anymore.”

The girl gaped at him. Her eyes were much too large for her hollow face. “I can keep it? Really?”

“Yes. You must take good care of it, though. And you must never lose when you play with it, because it’s undefeated.”

“Thank you,” said the girl.

“You won’t tell anyone I gave it to you?” Marius asked, hesitating.

“I promise I won’t,” she said. Marius scanned the area one last time, then ran to wait beside his grandfather’s carriage.

 

II

 

Cosette knew what men looked like, and she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. She had a father and an uncle, after all, and she didn’t think that any man could be more handsome than her father. He had blue eyes and clean white hair that reminded her of the way heaven looked in paintings, and he smiled all the time. Cosette was content with that.

Still, she couldn’t decline when one of the older girls invited her to climb to the attic and take a peek outside.

Cosette didn’t know what she had been expecting, but the musty brown room at the top of the stairs didn’t seem much like a gateway to the world. It didn’t seem much like a gateway at all; it was small, cramped, and dark. “Are you sure this is right?” Cosette asked nervously, turning to her companion. The other girl pointed to a broken desk beneath a stack of crates.

“I need you to crawl under there,” she said.

“What? Why?” Cosette asked.

“That’s where the gap in the wall is. You’re the only one who’ll fit. You have to.” Cosette felt disappointed; so this was the reason, the only reason, she had been chosen for this particular act of mischief!

“It’s dark. I hate the dark.”

“You should be used to it. You wear black every day.”

“But what if I get stuck?”

The older girl placed a hand on Cosette’s shoulder. “You won’t get stuck, I promise. Just look outside and tell me what you see, that’s all.”

Cosette was not convinced, but she conceded. She knelt and crawled coughing into the space under the desk. She had to flatten her stomach and press her chin down to get her eyes level with the space, but once she did, she had a surprisingly clear view of the house across the way. The gap in the wall was wide enough for both of her eyes to gaze through.

“Well?” the older girl asked impatiently. “Can you see anyone?”

“I can’t see the street,” Cosette said. “I think I’m looking at the second story. Maybe higher.”

“Is there a window?”

“Yes.”

“Are the curtains drawn open?”

“Yes.”

“And is there anyone inside?” Cosette didn’t answer, for a slight movement had caught her attention. “Did you hear me? Is there anyone inside?”

“Wait. I’m trying to see,” Cosette said faintly. A figure had come to sit before the window. Its back was turned, and she could not tell if it was old or young, man or woman. In the strange bright light she couldn’t even tell if its hair was dark or fair, but she could see that it curled and shone beautifully. She held her breath and pressed her nose against the floor, trying to get a better view, but it was no use. Turn around! she thought. Turn around, turn around, turn around! Then, remarkably, it did, and Cosette felt sure she would have lost her balance if she weren’t already as flat as she could be.

It was a boy–not a little boy, but not old like the men she knew, either. He looked close to the age of the girl who stood behind her, perhaps a bit older, and every bit as bored with the world. His eyes were downcast. He was watching something in the street below. There was something poignant in his gaze. Cosette wondered whether everyone who lived outside the convent walls looked so sad.

The boy was looking up now, squinting against the light. Suddenly, Cosette was sure that he was looking directly at her. She squirmed. It shouldn’t have been possible; it was so bright out there, and she was in the dark. But a funny look crossed his face, like he was trying to determine whether he could really see a small pair of eyes watching him from the wall. His lips parted in concentration. Cosette realized that he was very handsome.

She pulled herself off the floor, vigorously clapping the dust from her clothes. The older girl grabbed her hand anxiously. “Did you see anyone?” she asked.

“I couldn’t tell,” said Cosette. “Really. It’s a terrible view.” She headed for the stairs, despite the other girl crying that it was a view nonetheless.

Cosette never tried to look outside again, but she often wondered about the boy in the window, what he had seen in the street, and what made him so unhappy.

 

III

 

Marius silently scolded himself for not having worn a hat. He hadn’t gone out in the sun for so long, he’d forgotten how readily his skin burned. He frowned. A year ago he would never have considered leaving the house bareheaded, but Courfeyrac was always going around with his hair tangling in the wind and Marius couldn’t stand feeling overdressed beside him. He ran his fingers through his own hair. He hadn’t cut it since he’d left his grandfather’s house.

“–Marius, are you listening?”

“I was wondering whether you ever stop talking,” said Marius.

“I’m sure I must, sometimes.”

“You don’t. Not even when you sleep.”

Courfeyrac grimaced. “No. It can’t be true.”

Marius placed a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “It breaks my heart to be the one to tell you, my friend,” he said solemnly.

“But wouldn’t one woman in a hundred have the decency to let me know?”

“If you associated with decent women, maybe.” Courfeyrac grinned. Marius hadn’t removed his hand. He wondered when he’d become so comfortable around the other man. It was nice to have someone he could joke with, someone he could touch with ease.

“Alas, I’m sure there are worse fates. For example,” Courfeyrac said, nodding toward the nearest bench, “I could look like that.”

Marius, startled by this non sequitur, looked at the girl indicated by Courfeyrac. For a moment, she stared at him, wide-eyed, before quickly turning away. Marius did the same. He knew he was blushing. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t look a woman in the eye, even a plain-looking one, without becoming flustered.

Courfeyrac, not bothering to conceal his amusement, glanced back after they had passed the bench. “She’s still watching you,” he told Marius.

“Oh, God. Is she laughing?”

“No. She’s just watching.”

That was even worse. He knew that she was quietly appraising him. She probably noticed    each tear in his coat, each chipped and darkened fingernail. It would have been kinder of her to laugh at him and be done with it. 

Courfeyrac snickered, and Marius figured he had made some crude comment about the girl.

“Isn’t it awfully hypocritical of you to talk about her that way?” Marius asked carefully.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you always speak of showing mercy to the unfortunate.”

“Yes, I do, but she doesn’t exactly fit that description. Sure, she may not be aristocratic, but she is happy. She has a family, and a nice clean dress, and leisure to sit on a park bench every afternoon.”

“Money and clothes and relations don't necessarily amount to happiness. You and I both know that.”

“I–” Courfeyrac glanced at Marius out of the corner of his eye and smiled slightly. “You’re right. I suppose I can’t assume that.” It was probably the first time Marius had ever been right with Courfeyrac. “But it’s not just about present happiness,” Courfeyrac pressed. “It’s about opportunity. We chose this life. That girl back there could choose another course if she really wanted, or needed to. But some people can’t. They’re stuck where they are, and they never have an opportunity to seek happiness.”

“There are other things,” Marius said quietly. “That girl – doesn’t she deserve to fall in love? You walk by and make fun because she’s ugly, and you think, it’s all right, it does her no harm – but what if everyone who passes thinks the same? If no one takes her seriously, then no one will ever stop to consider her, and her youth will fly away and she’ll never fall in love. She lacks opportunity as well. She has money, but that can’t change the fact that she isn’t pretty. I feel sorry for her. She may become a good woman. She deserves happiness as much as anyone.”

Courfeyrac stopped walking and smiled at Marius. “I had no idea you were so sentimental. Have you always thought that way?” he asked.

Marius considered this question. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. I don’t remember. I just feel certain that it’s right.”

Courfeyrac said nothing. He slung an arm around Marius’ shoulders and started forward again. Marius looked back, but the bench with the girl in black had disappeared around the corner.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to ff.net in 2007; edited 2014.


End file.
